


please have mercy on me, take it easy on my heart

by CarmenOnMonday



Series: Mercy 'verse [1]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Brotherhood, Dele can't take it anymore, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eric is oblivious, Friendship, Gen, It's all quite emotional, Light Angst, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Some decisions are made
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 06:46:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16571669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarmenOnMonday/pseuds/CarmenOnMonday
Summary: As soon as the door closes after the Googlebox crew, Dele is suddenly struck by the realization of how badly he’s screwed. He lets a long breath out and feels the dread filling his body. He can’t bear to go back to his living room, where Eric is probably preparing to leave. He doesn’t have it in himself to go and face his best friend, that’s how bad it is.He forcefully hits his head against the door. He deserves it.





	please have mercy on me, take it easy on my heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fictional story about fictional characters named after real life people. It happened exclusively in my imagination. Please, don't judge me for it, and don't sue me for damaging anyone's reputation. It's all just for fun, I swear.
> 
> I'm not an English native, so if any mistakes disrupt your reading, I'm very sorry. I tried my best. 
> 
> Enjoy.

As soon as the door closes after the Googlebox crew, Dele is suddenly struck by the realization of how badly he’s screwed. He lets a long breath out and feels the dread filling his body. He can’t bear to go back to his living room, where Eric is probably preparing to leave. He doesn’t have it in himself to go and face his best friend, that’s how bad it is.

He forcefully hits his head against the door. He deserves it.

They had fun filming the special for the TV, oh, they had fun alright. Too much of it, probably. Dele doesn’t remember the last time he felt so comfortable in front of the camera. The crew had set it on and left to wait in their car, where they could watch Dele and Eric on monitors, determined not to interrupt them. Their point was to make them feel comfortable, and, with time, it worked; Dele let himself be lulled into the false sense of security. He completely forgot about the camera recording his every word and gesture. He started off the evening in his typical manner, with the bitch face on, his best self-preservation mechanism ready to protect him from the camera surveillance, but Eric, oh Eric, he managed to get through it, as always. 

Normally, Dele wouldn’t have minded, he’s used to Dier’s way of putting down his walls. There’s nothing wrong with being at ease with his best friend, a small touch here and there, a shared smile, a hand on the knee, some suggestive comments – it’s all banter, after all, and it’s nothing extraordinary when exchanged in the safety of their own houses, or even during the match, in the heat of the moment. Dele knows how to deal with it.

This time, though, he didn’t even realize what was going on until he’d already been squashed between the cushions and Eric’s body, with his throat hurting and eyes painfully dry, watching one of the cancer stories on the TV. He played with Eric’s short hair, feeling the nice tickle on his fingers, he caressed Eric’s neck to calm him down and give himself some kind of grounding as well. It’s like his mind had stopped working for a while, letting his instincts take over. As it turned out, his instincts, suppressed for so long, couldn’t be trusted. By then, it was already too late. _The show must go on_ and all that.

Somehow, even though he knew he’d screwed up, he didn't stop digging his own grave. Once in such close proximity to Eric, he was unable to stop their exchange of affections. He could see the challenge in Eric’s eyes; for him, it was all part of the game, with the winner being the one who pushed the boundaries the furthest. Dele let himself be enticed by Eric’s playful nature. He probably thought they would laugh about it in the end, proud of how they managed to cause a riot in their fan base. Dele, caught in the moment, could see that happening, could imagine himself being oh-so-relaxed about it all, yeah, _what a prank we pulled, mate, iconic_. Two footballers so close to each other on the national TV? Ha, let’s eat popcorn and watch the stir that will cause.

The thing is, most of the time Dele doesn’t care how close Dier and him are. He doesn’t even notice. Casual intimacy is a part of their routine, and Dele is fine with that, he is a master of pushing all uncomfortable thoughts to the back of his mind. He manages to stay in line. Sometimes, he even forgets that there is a part of him who would very much like to cross every line possible, that’s how used to his feelings and Eric’s close presence he is. 

It takes this recording and shocked but excited looks from the crew when they come back to gather their equipment, to finally realize he might have pushed it too far. It’s like a freezing cold shower, the thought almost knocking him down on his knees. He might have been too obvious. He might have caused a scene that won’t be interpreted as a joke, but as a declaration of… Of something huge, of this _thing_ he prefers unnamed, between him and Eric. It might ruin him. 

Eric doesn’t expect the approaching doom yet, because he’s used to their affections as much as Dele, but when he sees the final cut of the show, if he puts attention to Dele’s eyes, to his desperate need to comfort and be comforted, if he notices all the looks Dele gave him, if he hears the edge behind the “Netflix and chilling” comment… If he sees, from the outsider's perspective, the moment when Dele's made the final mistake, one which truly exposed him... Even oblivious Eric will recognize it for what it is. 

It _will_ ruin them.

“Hey, did you get lost on the way?” Eric shouts from the couch. He's got impatient with how long it took Dele to close his stupid door, no wonder. He’s still there; Dele has to deal with it, somehow.

“Miss me already?” he answers, nervously, feeling like every word coming out of his mouth is another stupid mistake which can expose him even sooner than expected. 

Dele comes back to his living room to the not-so-unusual scene – Eric's got even more comfortable on the couch, with his feet, now bare, on the small table. He’d seemed okay with the camera filming them, but now he is fully relaxed, the difference easily noticeable. Dele envies him; he’d like to be able to find the balance between being strictly professional and fully letting go of inhibitions. He, it seems, works only in extremities – he is either completely uptight, hidden behind his bitch face, or he forgets about the consequences and exposes to the public his most intimate secrets.

“Wasn’t that bad, right? You’ve made quite a show,” Eric comments with a laugh in his voice. He nods towards the place next to him on the couch, inviting Dele to sit. Dele doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but doesn’t have it in himself to look for the plausible excuse not to. He can’t explain to Eric why he suddenly feels terrified to be around him, when not more than half an hour ago he was all over him. 

“You know me, next Britain’s sweetheart and all that,” he tries to joke, but his voice still sounds somehow choked. 

_God, get it together, idiot_ , he tells himself. _It’s not like it’s new. It’s okay, it’s all okay, you stupid, stupid…_

Eric looks at him with a thoughtful expression on his face.

“You’re good? You really nailed it. People will love your comments,” Dier says, concerned, because he knows how nervous Dele gets with the media part of being a footballer. He knows him so well, probably better than anyone else except for his brother Harry. It’s ironic, that he doesn’t know this one huge secret which seems to constitute who he is as a person, and currently makes him sweat. 

But it’s good that he focuses on Dele’s camera anxiety, it gives him an out. 

Eric hand comes back to his knee, soft and warm. The previous feeling of ease is long gone, the safe haven they created – in front of the TV camera, for fuck’s sake – disappeared together with the crew, leaving Dele in constant second-hand embarrassment. He is startled by the touch; he involuntarily flinches. His foot hits the table. The half full cup of tea gets nearly knocked down, but Eric catches it before it falls, show-off. 

“Woah, you got really worked up. Don’t sweat it, I won’t let other kids laugh at you,” he says playfully, but with a hint of sincerity behind it. _I’ve got you_ , he says. _We’ll face it together_ , he says.

_Why do you have to be perfect like that?_ Dele doesn’t say.

“I didn’t know you love grapes so much,” he states instead, wanting to change the topic to something lighter. He immediately feels stupid when he receives Eric’s disbelieving look.

“I don’t, that’s all you had in the kitchen. Needed something to do with my hands, something to talk about. I mean, it was all for the show, right? Not like I wanted to present my real life on the national TV.”

Oh. Yeah. So he used their gestures to improve a show too, and the way he responded to Dele’s affections… All for the show, to sell better. Of course, Dele should expect it. Not only that, he should be happy, because it gives him an even better out. 

At least until Eric watches the Googlebox episode. That will be a game over.

“Yeah, right. Everything for the charity,” he responds half-heartedly. 

“I’m so spent after the training and this TV business, I don’t wanna move yet,” Eric whines, clearly asking if it’s okay if he stays. It’s always okay. 

“Fine, you dickhead, but you pay for the takeout,” Dele decides, faux irritation in his voice. He can’t even manage to get mad at him for putting up show and fooling him into exposing his true self. 

He couldn’t have known that it would ruin them eventually, it’s not his fault.

Dele tries to focus on the TV playing in front of him, some sort of TV series he doesn’t recognize showing the dramatic scene of a plane crash. It’s not enough to pull him out of his thoughts.

Even now, after a perfectly ordinary interaction with his best friend who is as oblivious as ever, Dele cannot get rid of the dread that fills his stomach. For some reason, this stupid recording was a proper wake-up call. Now, he is aware of his every gesture and every word, of every look he gives his mate. He’s completely frozen with fear of making one wrong move and disrupting the delicate harmony of their relationship.

He can’t come back to his previous state of sweet ignorance when his own feelings were almost like a long forgotten memory. Once he realized how dangerously close with Eric he is, how intimate they act, how normal it is for them, he… He’s in over his head. He can’t even force himself to look Eric in the eyes.

Eric notices, of course. Dele can tell he’s suspicious. Once he’s finished with ordering food on his iPhone, he raises one arm and puts it on the couch behind Dele’s back. He’s clearly waiting for him to get even closer, to fold himself into their typical position. He’s still so relaxed, so innocent about it. Dele isn’t, not anymore.

Eric raises an eyebrow.

“What, now we’re no longer on the TV, I’m not your teddy bear anymore?” he asks, sarcastically, but Dele feels like he’s been punched into his diaphragm. He can’t breathe.

“What are you– “ he chokes on the words.

“Jeeeez, Delboy, what is it with you today? Come on,” he says, more softly, and Dele’s not strong enough to protest. He slowly leans into Eric’s side and lays his head on his shoulder. It’s a sweet torture.

He still doesn’t take his eyes off this stupid TV series. The plane continues to fall, passengers all cry and scream, begging for some sort of miracle.

It’s the last time he’s in this position, he decides. One last evening before he cuts it all out. Now that he noticed how far he let that go, he cannot continue anymore, he’ll go crazy with analyzing every smallest interaction between them. He feels like running away or screaming for help; he’s heading for the crash, just like the characters on the TV. Still, for now, just for the sake of saying goodbye to this intimate stage of their friendship, he stays in the safe spot next to Eric’s warm body.

Eric’s fingers draw some patterns on his right shoulder and it’s oh-so-familiar that Dele finally feels himself slowly relax. He’s hopeless.

“That’s right. You’re okay, you did great,” Eric whispers, he’s voice rough after the whole afternoon of recording, into his ear. He must still think Dele got some sort of post-stage fright, that it’s his anxiety acting out when the adrenalin of the whole ordeal went away. Eric knows him well, he’d seen that happen before, been there to help him calm down. He’s not even wrong, it is the anxiety, but the root of it… It’s not as easily forgettable as a few hours long recording for the TV.

After a few quiet minutes, during which Dele tries to take in everything about this situation, because he apparently turned into a sixteen-year-old from some teen drama and doesn’t want to forget anything – the smell of Eric’s detergent, the warmth he radiates, the feel of his hoodie on Dele’s cheek – the intercom’s ringing pulls him out of his thoughts.

“I’ve got it,” Eric states, pulls away from him, and goes to the door to get their food. Dele immediately misses his presence. Now that he notices such things, he feels pathetic, cheated on by his own mind and body. 

He uses the time alone to pull out his phone and text Harry. 

**Dele: need ur help**

Only after he sent it, he realizes he might have just given his brother a proper scare. He adds another text.

**Dele: im ok. agent stuff**

He doesn’t have to wait long for the answer.

**Harry: wanna come by later?**

**Dele: sure, thx**

They’ll manage to do some damage control, he hopes, they have to, because if not... 

He puts the phone away. The sight of Eric coming into his kitchen with food, opening packages, putting their dishes on plates (nothing fancy, just like they prefer: some Portuguese version of the chicken dish for Eric and roast turkey for Dele) – it’s all so familiar. 

He haven’t noticed when this man managed to settle into his life. 

_He’s found him._

Dele doesn’t want it to end, but it can’t stay as it is, he’ll choke on it, and it will never be anything more, so…

“Bon appétit,” Eric states when he puts the plate on the table in front of Dele.

“Good boy,” Dele answers before he catches himself, referencing the night of the bet.

Eric gives him a startled look, surprised but visibly glad that Dele is back to normal. He hits him lightly on the back. 

“I’m not doing the dishes.”

“Ungrateful bastard. Be careful, I might not let you stay here anymore,” he says as a joke, just to have a few more moments of normalcy, while something heavy drops in his stomach.

After all, it might actually be their last evening spent together.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It says a lot about their friendship, the way Harry reacts to the words “we need to censor the Googlebox”. He takes it in stride; he invites Dele inside and asks if he wants some tea. He seems surprised, but not off-put. From the look of it, he is much more concerned about Dele’s state than the inevitable scandal.

They camp in his living room and Dele tells him everything. Well, not everything, because some of it – the most important parts, really – he already knows. They talked about it in the past. Harry is his brother in every meaning of this word except for the obvious; he always has his back, he supports him and helps him through rough patches, never asks for anything in return. When Dele’s told him, years ago, even before he became a professional football player and Harry became his agent, that he finds boys more interesting than girls, Harry has just said playfully “more ladies for me”. 

When Dele came to him, years later, quite shocked himself, after realizing he might fancy his best mate from the team, Harry was appropriately concerned, but assured him that it’s going to be okay. He promised he would help him hide it, he would tell him if he got too obvious, if any rumours appeared. And yes, the rumours… The amount of them used to terrify Dele, but Harry believed that’s good for him, that by forming such a famous bromance with Eric he’s created a very believable excuse for his actions. In the public eye, they’re almost an urban legend, the story of their friendship epic, the extent of their intimacy unprecedented, but dismissed as natural in their profession. 

They’re supposed to be a new image of a healthy male friendship, just like Gareth Southgate became an icon of new era of masculinity. 

Dele’s not sure their today’s actions – his, in particular – will fit such an image. It was simply too much. This one particular moment when he… Even thinking about it now, he wants the earth to swallow him.

“They need to cut it,” he says, still not believing in his own stupidity. 

“Del, maybe you’re overreacting, maybe it– “

Dele interrupts him, “Oh, no, don’t. I know what I’m talking about. It’s… It’s compromising.” He’s so fucking embarrassed, even though it’s just Harry he’s talking to.

Harry observes him for a moment, and seems to notice how serious Dele is, because the next time he opens his mouth, he no longer tries to change his mind.

“How did Eric react?” he asks, straight to business.

“You know him,” Dele says simply, staring intently at his nails. “He took it like a champ. Didn’t even flinch. I’m not sure he noticed.”

Harry considers it, and is quick with the response.

“So why do you think the audience will notice?”

“For fuck’s sake, Harry, you know how they analyze every single second of our interviews. Of course they’ll notice. Not only this moment, the whole time… I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Dele takes a moment to appreciate his choice of an agent, when instead of a lecture on appropriate behaviour, he gets a hug. He lets Harry comfort him, for the first time today finally letting himself rest. 

Dele can’t keep it inside him anymore. 

“I’m going to stop,” he whispers, brokenly.

“What are you talking about?” Harry asks in disbelief.

“I let it go on for far too long. I can’t be around him anymore. I can’t– It’s too– I can’t stand it. I thought I could, I thought it would be okay, and, and it was, until I realized... That’s not what I want.” He rambles and works himself up, until he’s not sure he knows how to stop talking. “It kills me to be so close and yet so– “ 

“Okay,” Harry interrupts him. “It’s okay, if that’s what you want. You’re not alone anymore, remember? It’s okay, we’ll manage it. But are you sure? How can you even– “

Dele stands up abruptly.

“I’ll just start treating him like any other teammate. It’ll be better for the both of us,” he says with a false confidence, trying to convince Harry – and himself too.

“Don’t you think he’ll have something to say about it?” Harry looks at him like he’s crazy. He’s not. He’s finally woken up from his craziness.

“Probably, but I’ll manage it somehow. And then when he sees this stupid GoogleBox and realizes– He won’t care. We won’t be close anymore.”

_It won’t hurt me_ , he doesn’t add.

Some part of Dele is terrified of his own logic; another part is grateful for the determination to prevent himself from getting hurt. It has to be like that. He needs to protect himself, because he knows no one else will do that for him, he’d learned that much from the experience. He needs to put himself first, even if it means ending the friendship with the person who is probably his freaking soulmate, before it eats him alive, or implodes and scars him for life.

Harry seems shocked. “Dele, you know I’ll always have your back, but aren’t you a bit too dramatic? He hasn’t noticed for so long… Are you absolutely sure it’s necessary? Will you even be alright with cutting Eric off?” 

“I’ll have to be.” Dele takes a deep breath. “You don’t get it. He has a girlfriend, remember? Even today, after everything, after he cuddled with me and ate the dinner at my place, he just left and went back to her. He’s so… _friendly_ in everything he does with me, he doesn’t realize… It’s not fair, I can’t do this to him anymore. I can’t lead myself on anymore either, can’t give myself an illusion of something more. It really hurts too much,” Dele explains while he nervously strides back and forth between the window and the door. 

“Listen, you need to be sure, because to pull it off, you’ll probably have to hurt him. He’ll try to understand, he’ll fight with you... You need to be ready for it. And there won’t be going back from this.”

“He’ll be okay,” he says. Eric has a lot of friends. _He’ll be okay._ “I’m sure.”

Dele is done. He’s just done. He falls back onto the couch, any strength to stay upright leaving him. 

“Well, I am _not_ sure it’s the right thing to do, Del. You could just be honest with him– “

“Are you kidding me? And how will that go? Sorry, mate, I was in love with you this whole time, and every time we hugged, or touched, or spent time together, I–“ 

Dele chokes, he can’t continue this farce. There is nothing he can say to explain his actions. He could have told him, yes, at the very beginning. Now, he will only look as an asshole who used the person who trusted him. Eric will get uncomfortable around him, maybe even scared... Dele will become a fucking gay footballer cliché. He can’t be honest, he’s too much of a coward to give Eric a chance to laugh at him and a power to call it quits on their friendship. 

Dele needs to be the one in control, there’s no other way.

“You know, it wasn’t just you, you need a partner to act like an old married couple, and Eric seemed pleased to play the part.”

“Play,” Dele repeats after him. “Exactly. It’s all just a game for him,” he whispers, so, so, so tired of it all.

Harry seems disappointed, but, finally, he just nods. The discussion is over, it’s time for a plan.

“I’ll call the producer. I’ll ask for a say in what will get into the final cut, but– “ Harry stops and looks at him worryingly. 

“But?”

“We didn’t put such condition into our deal, so we don’t really have any right to demand it, we can only kindly ask if– “

“Then ask, please. And if they say no… It’s gonna be alright. By that time, Eric won’t care anyway. I don’t give a damn about the rest of the world.” He’s lying, they both know it; Eric, even from the distance, will care and will probably hate him forever for putting him into the spotlight like that once the rumours start. Dele does care about what others think of him, but it’s not like he gets a say in it anymore. It’s his own fault for letting his guard down.

Harry looks at him with pity in his eyes for a moment, and then goes to the kitchen; when he comes back with a bottle of whisky, Dele is assured, once again, that even though he messed up one of the greatest friendships in his life, at least he’s got a brother in his corner.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, Harry calls the network.

“They said no, Del,” he reports apologetically when he comes back from the balcony. “They will send us the material a few days early, so we can be prepared for the backlash, and they assured me that there is nothing strictly compromising in it, but they never let anyone interfere with their creative process, and they aren’t obligated to do it now. We could try through the club, but– “

“No,” Dele interrupts him. “It’s not the club’s business.”

“They still might cut it.” Harry tries to comfort him.

They might, or they might not, who knows. They’ll see in two months. It doesn’t matter anymore. Dele’s made his decision anyway.

It’s time to take a step back and create some distance between him and Eric, it’s time to get his own life back. He craves the feeling of being in control. Even if it means the end of _EricandDele_. 

**Author's Note:**

> ...so, as you can already tell, it doesn't finish here. Sorry...? :( It's actually more of a beginning.
> 
> This is the first installment of an entire 'verse, which will require a terrifying amount of time and effort from me. I have it all planned out into four or five parts, and I hope to post the next one shortly. The way this story will be divided called for publishing each installment as a separate story. I'm sorry for luring you in with the promise of a small one-shot. I hope I'll be able to give you more than that.
> 
> Please, let me know what you think about it. It's my first fic written in English, I'm quite nervous. (Also, because of the mentioned before terrifying amount of determination I'll need to see it through, I'll be forever grateful for any feedback, because it will motivate me. Please, motivate me! I'm a professional procrastinator.)
> 
> You can find me here: [TUMBLR](http://www.carmenonmonday.tumblr.com) Come say hi! :)


End file.
